


Fact Or Weapon?

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining, Sherlock is so in love, greg makes very brief appearance, no smut but implied smut, tea solves all great woes, why the fuck are all my johnlock fics angsty af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8472865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Sherlock wants to say something before he blacks out, while both their guards are down. Would it really be that dangerous to love, to bring those true moments out into the open?Don't they both live for danger?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry my summaries suck.  
> This is the result of being sad and the Mystrade fic I'm working on is just not co-operating with me and it has the potential to be a really good one but *sigh*
> 
> This was not beta read and was started months ago and then taken up again two days ago.  
> Enjoy~

 

"A truth should exist,  
             it should not be used  
                      like this.

                            If I love you, is that a fact or a weapon?" Margaret Atwood

 

* * *

 

 

John’s breath came heavy and Sherlock could feel it ghost across his skin, raising the hairs on his arms. They had not been stuck is such a small space for months. Now, they waited in silence as the attacker’s footfalls faded.

“He’ll run right into Lestrade’s arms.” Sherlock murmured, resting his head against the wall. There was a dull throb in his temples as he closed his eyes, focussing on John’s breathing.

_John is here. John is with me. Take this moment._

“Bloody hell, that was brilliant.” John whispered, “But what the hell Sherlock? He could have killed you.”

John’s breathing was more even now; the lack of participation in crime scenes as of late was telling on his fitness. Sherlock snorted “As if”, eyes closed, he felt like he was sinking. The adrenaline boost fading and his sleepless week was slowly creeping up on him. The pain didn’t help.

 

“Sherlock? Has Greg given the all clear yet?” Silence. “Sherlock?” John held his breath, he couldn’t see Sherlock in this janitor’s closet, not in the dark. “Sherlock?” His voice was more on edge now, he slid closer to Sherlock. 

Sherlock’s breath was shallow, but it was there. His eyes were shut tightly, an expression of pain clear across his features. “Did he-“

“Knife in the side.” Sherlock breathed. 

John scrambled around in the small space, attempting to remove Sherlock from his coat. “Your phone has a flashlight, can we use that?” John took the slight incline of Sherlock’s head as an affirmative. “Nothing from Greg-“ John was silenced by a distant shot of a gun. Sherlock’s eyes opened and he squinted at John in the darkness. “Dead.” 

“Greg?” John’s voice was louder than it should have been, they were still hidden in this closet, but the panic was slowly creeping up on John.

“The other idiot.” 

Sherlock’s phone lit up and Greg’s name announced the all clear. There was the sound of running footfalls in the corridor and Sherlock leaned forward to rest his head on John’s shoulder.

“John, I-“

 

Greg’s voice calling their names interrupted them as John shouted out their location. The inspector opened the closet door, allowing light to stream in and it was only then that John could see how pale Sherlock had become. Greg cast him an alarmed glance and took out his phone, “What was it?” He asked as he waited“Donovan get some medics in here.”

“Here, hold him for me.” 

Greg knelt down beside Sherlock and held him up, his eyes immediately being drawn to the scarlet seeping through the crisp white of Sherlock’s shirt. “John.” He motioned towards Sherlock’s side and John nodded, face grim. He gently removed the material from the wound and his sigh of relief nearly made him dizzy. Greg stared at him with an almost horrified expression.

“It’s deep, but not enough to harm the kidney. Blood loss is an issue, but that can be sorted. He hit his head earlier and that is most likely the cause of dizziness and bouts of…this.” John motioned at Sherlock, “Sherlock is…Sherlock’s _strong_.” 

Greg just stared at John, his face unreadable before the medics interrupted them.

 

~oOo~

Sherlock awoke to an artificial brightness and groaned upon realising he was in a hospital bed.

“Welcome back.” The voice came from his side and Sherlock couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face when he saw John’s amused expression. John’s hand was resting on Sherlock’s; it felt like the warmth was flooding through Sherlock’s system.

It was times like this, when one of them was injured or in the hospital when they both seemed to let their guards down, as though hospitals were not quite reality.

“What happened?” Sherlock could still feel a dull throb in his head.

“Apart from a mild concussion, blood loss, and a flesh wound?”

“Hmph. Not bad.” He flinched at the pain in his side when he tried to stretch, John let go of his hand and Sherlock had to try and hide his disappointment.

John chuckled, “You scared Greg.” 

“Do I ever not scare him?” He ran his hand through his hair, “When can we leave?”

John checked his watch, “Whenever, they wanted to monitor you for a while. The lack of sleep didn’t help.”

“I’ve had worse.”

 

~oOo~

“You should try and sleep y’know.” John mumbled as he went to switch on the kettle. 

“Can you pour me some tea?” Sherlock asked as he threw his jacket over the chair. John nodded once and Sherlock went to change. He watched himself in the mirror, he was a lot paler than usual. The wound was covered but Sherlock was confident that it was only minor and wouldn’t really matter in a few days. 

“Your tea is done.” John called from the kitchen and Sherlock sat down on his bed, tired and pensive. 

“Can you bring it in here?”

 

Would it really be so… _traumatic_ to do something, to bring the stilted reality of the hospitals into 221B? 

It would be dangerous. But they both lived for danger, didn’t they?

 

“Lazy sod.” John murmured, smiling knowingly. “Here.” He handed Sherlock the mug and sat down beside him on the bed with his own. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their tea.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“You were trying to say something to me before Greg interrupted us, do you remember?”

Sherlock froze, and stared at his tea as though it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“Or was it just you being a drama queen?” John’s voice was teasing now, it had gotten a little to close to the surface. They didn’t do this.

“I’m never dramatic!” Sherlock exclaimed, mock insulted. 

John snorted, “You could have been an actor, you know?” 

Their shoulders brushed against each other and Sherlock felt a longing deep inside of him.

 

Would it really be so dangerous?

 

“Would I have met you then?” The words fell out of Sherlock’s mouth before he had time to think about the implications. 

Maybe he wanted to explore those implications. 

John paused, brows drawing together, “Maybe not.” 

Sherlock finished his tea and shifted slightly, “Then I’m glad I chose this.” 

John stayed very still, his face unreadable, “I am too.” John’s voice was quiet, and Sherlock could feel his hands shake as he tried to cross this space between them. 

 

Before he could move to grasp John's hand or his thigh, John stood, the sudden absence of his warmth at Sherlock's side was sobering. 

What was he doing? 

 

“You’d better sleep.” John didn’t glance at Sherlock, and if he had have, he may not have even caught the look of longing that crossed his face. Instead, John took his mug and left the room.

Sherlock placed his hand on the duvet beside him and felt the remainder of John’s warmth fade away.

 

The attachment would be dangerous. But hell, they were both already attached, what further harm could it do?

 

 

Sherlock awoke with a start. His room was dark, the only light source was the light seeping in under the door from the kitchen. He clumsily managed to turn on his bedside light and was greeted with a cold bottle of water, a pack of paracetamol and a bowl full of orange segments. He glanced around the room and realised he was laying under one of the throws they usually had on the sofa. 

He was lying on top of his duvet. It took a few seconds to connect it all together, and Sherlock felt strange, warm.

Was he really so dead to the world that John could have come in and left all this and covered him with the blanket?

 

Sherlock took a paracetamol and tried to push the ache in his side to the back of his head. He let his legs take him upstairs. He was silent; he always was.

He had not done this recently, but the truth was that he wanted to take this risk, he wanted John to take it too.

 

John’s breathing was slow and constant, Sherlock stood in the shadows of the doorway and watched John’s chest rise and fall. His chest was heavy, he longed to be able to touch the older man. He longed to be able to _talk_ about this, about how he needed John.

 

John doesn’t suffer from night terrors as much now, maybe once or twice a month. When they were nightly, constant, Sherlock would be beside him. John would curl into him and Sherlock would sing to him quietly, or talk him back to sleep. Then, in the mornings, they would act like nothing had happened, they never talked about it, Sherlock just happened to be in John’s room. They did not sleep together, Sherlock was always awake.

 

Sherlock abhorred the word love. It was used too casually, thrown around too carelessly. It had dangerous connotations; if anyone malevolent knew how exactly Sherlock felt about John, John would be at constant risk. 

People suspected, of course, and that had already led to John being used against Sherlock. 

 

He continued to watch John, so peaceful and unaware. In theory, Sherlock would just have to cross the room, wake John up, but he couldn’t. Surely something would have happened by now if John felt the same and that’s what stopped Sherlock each time. Sometimes he thought something could happen, thought he could see John’s eyes linger on him, an impossibly loving expression across his face. Sherlock would remind himself at those times that he knew nothing about relationships, he had no data and desired none from anyone that was not John Watson.

~oOo~

Sherlock had opened his bedroom window and was sitting on the window ledge, allowing the smoke from his cigarettes to dissipate into the air. He had heard John’s footfalls on the stairs, but he found he could not force himself to move.

“Sherlock, it’s freezing, you’ll catch your death.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock could see John glance at the ashtray and the remainders of the other cigarettes he had smoked. “How long have you been sitting here?” 

Sherlock shrugged, he felt like his body was concrete, he was hardening from the chest outwards.

“Let me make you some tea, come away from the cold. Is your side alright?”

Sherlock only nodded, watching John disappear to the kitchen. 

 

“I remember.” Sherlock’s voice was hoarse from lack of use and broke the silence between them. John’s hands curled around his mug of tea and it took him a minute to meet Sherlock’s eyes. He said nothing, but his eyes were open wide; was that a flicker of hope that Sherlock could see?

“I am so in love with you, John Watson.” Sherlock’s voice quivered, but he did not break eye contact. He felt as though an ungodly weight had been lifted from his chest. He had said it. He could breathe again.

 

John’s eyes became brighter, if that was even possible and Sherlock watched as the words made their way home, because John was _home_. John’s hands moved from his mug to intertwine his fingers with Sherlock’s.That all so familiar warmth that came with the touch of John’s hands spread through Sherlock. 

 

John was smiling now, “God Sherlock…” He stood up, pulling Sherlock up, not letting go of his hands. Sherlock’s legs were shaking now, he wanted to laugh at how insane this was, how surreal.

“I always hoped.” John whispered, “Always.”

Sherlock moved as close to John as he could get; their chests touching, hands joined between them. “I am so happy we found each other.”

 

They were breathing in each other’s air now, Sherlock didn’t know how he should proceed. John seemed to note the calculating expression and caressed Sherlock’s cheek with one hand, placing his other hand at the back of Sherlock’s neck. 

Sherlock who had been able to breathe properly for the first time in a long time, held his breath as John pulled Sherlock forward and down to his lips. Their lips brushed together, lightly and briefly and John waited for Sherlock to react before he moved again.

 

Sherlock began breathing again, an incredible lightness flooding through his airways, he cradled John’s head, his fingers in John’s soft hair and he pressed his lips against John’s again.

This time there was some sort of release between them, both of them letting go, no more restraints, no more hidden feelings.

 

There was an increasing desperation in their kiss, the impossible need to be as close to each other as they possibly could.

Sherlock allowed John to push him up against the wall behind him, trusting him not to let him fall.

John broke away from Sherlock's lips and their eyes met for a brief second. Sherlock was taken aback by the darkness in John's eyes, his face red, lips pink from the pressure of their kisses and his heavy breathing. When John smiled up at Sherlock, with that smoky expression in his eyes, Sherlock felt his legs go weak. 

 

John was holding him up and Sherlock gasped when John's lips found the sensitive part on his neck, and breathed 'Oh!' when John used his teeth. 

Sherlock's noises distracted John and he glanced up at the taller man, a smirk on his lips. It struck Sherlock how aroused John looked, he had only ever imagined John like this.

 

"Come with me," John breathed, his hands finding Sherlock's again. Sherlock nodded as he followed John up the few steps to his room. Crossing through the doorframe, Sherlock remembered how many times he had stood there, hoping, wishing.

 

"Have you ever-"

"No." Sherlock cut across John, cheeks reddening. John nodded, the smile returning to his face, excitement in his eyes. John wrapped both hands around Sherlock, resting them both at the small of his back. He pulled Sherlock up against him, their erections brushed against each other through their clothes and Sherlock let out a breath, eyes locking with John's. 

 

It was Sherlock that dipped his head to kiss John this time, he brushed up against John again and John bit his lip, and Sherlock could feel the dizziness returning to his legs. When they broke apart for breath, John placed light kisses across Sherlock's cheek, and when he reached his ear his voice was deep, full of lust and Sherlock could feel the unfamiliar rush of arousal rush through his body again. "Would you like-"

Sherlock cut John off with a deep kiss, "God, yes." He breathed.

 

~oOo~

Sherlock awoke suddenly, unusually warm. He was confused by his surroundings, they were familiar but it all clicked when he felt an arm around his waist, the warmth of John's body against his skin. He felt so light. There was a calmness within him, a sense of security. 

 

"Morning handsome." John's voice was quiet and hoarsebut when Sherlock opened his eyes, he was met with John's smiling face, mere inches away from his own. " _John_."

John chuckled quietly, pulling Sherlock up against him. "Yes. I'm right here."

 

~oOo~

Sherlock was staring absently out the window, the mug of tea he had made himself long cold in his hands. He didn't hear John come back from the surgery, he didn't notice the footsteps approaching him. He startled at the sudden warmth of John's arms wrapping around him, somehow not spilling his tea. John took the mug from his hands and sat down on the arm of his chair, side still brushing against Sherlock. 

 

"What are you thinking about?" John asked quietly, his touch gentle as he caressed Sherlock's face. 

"This could be dangerous." Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper.

John was silent for a few seconds, watching Sherlock carefully.

When Sherlock managed to refocus, he turned his head towards John and was confused to see him smiling. He cast John a questioning glance.

 

"Sherlock, if it wasn't dangerous, it wouldn't be us." John murmured, pulling Sherlock close against him, as Sherlock buried his head in John's shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. "I love you and that is a fact, no matter how dangerous. It's us." John felt some of the tension disappear from Sherlock's body upon hearing the words and he continued to hold him close. Neither wanted to let go any time soon.

Neither would.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The poem that inspired this, 'We Are Hard On Each Other', can be read [here.](https://readalittlepoetry.wordpress.com/2011/05/11/we-are-hard-by-margaret-atwood/)
> 
>  
> 
> If anyone wants to chat, or whatever you can find me on tumblr [here](http://lostallsenseofcontrol.tumblr.com/).


End file.
